This Time Next Year(64)
Minnie closed her eyes. Why had she been expecting sympathy from her mother?
‘Can I tell you something, Minnie? I always used to think that if you worked hard and you did right by people, life would come out OK. I had this sense the world was fair somehow.’
Minnie opened her eyes and met her mother’s gaze reflected in the blank television screen. ‘When you were born, if I hadn’t helped that woman, we might have won that money, life might have been easier. But it went to her – someone with more money than she could know what to do with. The injustice of it got to me.’ Minnie listened quietly, turning to watch her mother’s profile. ‘Still, your father and I got on, tried to save, to give you and your brother the best lives we could. Then we lost it all – bad luck, wrong timing, or your father took too big a risk. I don’t know.’
‘It wasn’t Dad’s fault. You can’t blame him, Mum,’ said Minnie.
‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Her mother finally turned to look at Minnie. ‘Never put your chips on someone’s gamble, that’s all I ever wanted you to learn, Minnie. I don’t think this business was ever likely to end well, Minnie, not with your luck.’ She patted Minnie’s leg. ‘You can’t change the wind, it’s always gonna blow. All you can do is plant your feet firmer on the ground,’ she sighed.
‘I always feel like you’re so disappointed in me, Mum,’ said Minnie, hanging her head.
‘You’re too sensitive, love,’ said her mother, reaching out to push a curl behind Minnie’s ear. ‘You always have been. It’s hard for a parent to see her child struggle, and you seem to struggle more than most. I won’t always be here to pick up the pieces.’ Minnie closed her eyes and dropped her head onto her mother’s shoulder. ‘Maybe just avoid taking any more big risks for a while, love.’
‘OK, Mum.’ Minnie let out a sigh. ‘I’m going to go to bed.’
As she got up and headed for the stairs, Minnie suddenly felt calmer than she had done in weeks.
‘Minnie,’ her mother called softly after her. ‘This Quinn Hamilton’s got nothing to do with you ending things with Greg, has he?’
‘No, why? What makes you say that?’ Minnie was taken aback; it was strange to hear her mother mention Quinn’s name.
‘I just wouldn’t trust someone like that, you’ll only end up disappointed. You need someone cut from the same cloth as you, someone who knows what life’s about.’
‘I thought you’d be all for me marrying him then divorcing him and getting that fifty grand back?’ Minnie said with a smile.
Her mother’s mouth twitched in amusement. ‘You don’t need someone else’s money love, you’ll be all right.’
New Year’s Eve 2010
Twenty-nine pounds for sea bream on a bed of samphire and wild rice; twenty-nine pounds! Quinn did some quick mental arithmetic; if they had three courses and the cheapest wine on the menu, this was still going to set him back a hundred and fifty quid. The restaurant was on the top floor of a hotel. Outside he could see the huge expanse of Hyde Park, beautifully illuminated by moonlight and round pools of light from the street lamps, which lined its long wide avenues. The Serpentine looked like a black mirror, still and glassy. The whole park glowed with a pink aura bleeding from the city lights, cocooning it in dark tranquillity. At midnight they’d be able to see firework displays all over London.
When Quinn had reserved the table one month in advance, he’d been on hold for an hour. Now he saw the prices on the menu he knew he’d overstretched himself trying to impress Polly. He closed the menu sharply. There was no point worrying about the bill now; she would love it, that was all that mattered.
‘Quinn, the bathroom is bigger than my flat,’ said Polly in hushed excitement as she returned to the table. ‘We could set up a dance floor in there later.’ She giggled, picking up the napkin from her chair and slipping into the seat opposite.
Polly had short blonde hair and a delicate angular face. She had prominent cheekbones that gave her face a beautiful elfin quality, yet her deep blue eyes transmitted a steely intelligence.
‘Are you sure you can afford this?’ she whispered, lifting a hand to cover her mouth.
‘It’s a special occasion,’ he said. ‘I did promise we’d celebrate your university scholarship properly.’
‘Well, I feel very spoilt. I have been fantasising about this meal all month. It all looks so delicious, Quinn.’
Behind Polly, Quinn watched an older man with grey hair lean forward in his chair and squeeze the hand of the woman he was with. It was a confident, intimate gesture and he saw the woman gaze back at her partner with doe-eyed admiration. Quinn reached out to take Polly’s hand.
‘Don’t worry about it. I want you to enjoy yourself,’ he said, giving her hand a squeeze.
Quinn had borrowed one of his father’s old jackets for the occasion. It was a beautifully cut blue woollen blazer, hand-made on Savile Row. His father was a slighter build and it was too tight for Quinn across the shoulders. Extending his arm caused him to hunch uncomfortably.
Quinn had met Polly six months ago. He’d spent the summer backpacking around Brazil with his university friend, Mike. It had been a rare opportunity to escape London, afforded by his aunt coming over from the US to hold the fort at home. Quinn and Mike had run into Polly and her friend Gina in a bar in Salvador. The girls were in Brazil on their gap year, planting trees for a charity. The four of them had spent the evening comparing travel tales and drinking caipirinhas so full of lime they made their eyes water. Quinn had been besotted with this beautiful, funny, generous soul, from that first caipirinha.